In Her Room
by sarcastic.shinobi
Summary: Kinda spoilerish if you haven’t played through Oswald’s chapter. After agreeing to Odin’s proposal, Oswald stumbles across Gwendowlyn’s room in the Necropolis, where he reflects on his feelings for her and is confronted by Myris.


**Title**: In Her Room

**Author**: Sarcastic.Shinobi

**Fandom(s)**: Odin Sphere

**Genre(s)**: Romance, angst

**Rating**: T

**Pairing(s)**: None really, kinda Ossie Gwen

**Distribution**: Please do not archive or repost w/o permission. As if you'd want to.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the beauty that is Odin Sphere… Wish I did.

**Summary**: Drabble. Kinda spoilerish if you haven't played through Oswald's chapter. After agreeing to Odin's proposal, Oswald stumbles across Gwendowlyn's room in the Necropolis, where he reflects on his feelings for her and is confronted by Myris.

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**In Her Room**

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To what, exactly, did I just agree? A bribe: my services for a human life?

How pathetic, to secure love by a bribe. But when faced with the alternative, dying, alone and unloved, do the means by which love is attained matter at all?

Of course it does.

I had never hated myself more.

My footsteps echoed hollowly as I raced up the stone steps of the tower. My breath came out in big, gulping pants. For the first time in my life, my armor—my second skin—felt heavy.

When was it that I became this weak? When had this infirmity become not just physical, but emotional as well? Such a fool I am. The answer: always. I have always felt the need to be… wanted. To be loved.

I didn't want to think about it anymore.

My chest burned.

I stopped my insane pace in a landing, resting my hands on my knees and panting a little. Surprised, I noticed that my black armor suddenly reflected a tranquil blue. I turned my head to peer out a stained glass window. A gigantic blue bird, wings outstretched, feathers etched in minute detail, played before me.

Of course… A bird. Here, in the home of the Valkyries, what else would it be?

As I stared at this image, I felt a sense of quiet steal through my throbbing veins and aching muscles.

The castle was beautiful, a towering work of art made of white stone and marble, where ghostly lights reflected on its smooth surfaces and statues outside, a stately tribute to the talents of humans. So different from the castle in Ringford, where nature itself had carved the home of the royal family.

Yet I belonged to neither place. No one would lay claim to me.

Could I belong to a place such as this? Could I forever align myself with the Aesir, whom I had once sworn as my enemies?

The scene replayed in my mind as I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall.

The Demon Lord towered over me, his starry cloak billowing behind him. His craggy face sneered at me in blatant dislike. Never one to shrink from a challenge, I sneered back. His crown was so polished, I could see my reflection—young but pale, with tired black eyes and sharp strawberry hair, as sharp as the expression I wore—it seemed I was growling at myself. I had lost interest and moved to leave.

"I will give you my daughter if you do this for me."

He found humor at my expense when I turned back. This desperate, stately king had the gall to laugh when he found something to get my attention.

Manners of the court, indeed.

And then he made his proposal. A magic weapon, a castle, and his daughter… All if I would but slay a dragon.

Slaughter a dragon? At first I wanted to laugh. This task was beyond the great Odin's capabilities? To me, it was a pittance. I had done it before for less, simply because _he_ had asked me to…. The man I had once called my father—the handsome statesman, Melvin. Melvin, who had wielded me as one would a sword…

My hand twitched on the Belderiver's handle with the thought.

And now, to think his daughter's life was worth so little to Odin.

But as I stared up at him, I could not help but analyze the situation.

Even if he had no love for her, why would he bargain with her, the talented and fearsome Odin's Witch? They were still in the middle of a war with the Vanir, and had sustained heavy casualties—many of which due to my own blade. He may not have needed a daughter, but he certainly needed a general.

Perhaps there was more to this matter than I could perceive.

I watched my reflection change from brusque to thoughtful and back again in his crown.

Ultimately, my thoughts were of no consequence. There could be nothing more valuable in Erion than Gwendolyn. If Odin would not value her for her true worth, then I would. Happily.

With a nod, I turned away, and sauntered towards the exit, my armor clinking delicately, barely audible, with each step.

I can't remember when it was that I started running… Or why I remained inside the citadel. I should have immediately set to the task, with vigor. Yet, here I was.

Cursing my own black heart.

I opened my eyes slowly and stepped forward. These ruminations were pointless. I had already agreed; I could only follow through on my word.

I started back towards the stairs, but stopped as I turned away from the glass window.

Two white doors decorated the stone hallway across from me. A marble bust of an armored woman hung over the archway, a dove on one shoulder, and a hawk on the other. Each creature held one wing outstretched.

The gods help me, my knees trembled, for I knew what I had happened upon.

I stumbled forward, tripping over my own tired feet, and laid one armored hand against the smooth white surface. I sensed no one beyond these doors.

If I were to enter these rooms, what would I find? Would I learn secrets about the strange woman I so desired? In the battlefield, there is no better place to study one's target than in its own environment. Perhaps the same could be said of love.

I wrapped my fingers around an ornate handle and pushed forward heavily, surprised by the easy give of the door.

And I was inside.

Her gigantic four-post bed sat against the far wall, near a balcony that looked over the glowing city. The swirling lights reflected on the white surfaces of her room, painting them with ever-changing colors: green, violent, then fuchsia, and finally blue. Even from the doorway, it was an impressive view.

A bulb of a lamp hung over a low dressing table. Inside, two giant butterflies flitted in lazy circles around several lilac branches, chasing one another. The faster they flew, the more light they generated. I stared at them for a long time, regrettably reminded of Ringford.

Tearing my eyes away, I noted a light brown changing shade next to a white bureau. It was decorated with warriors suiting for battle. A white, blue, and black dress hung from this shade. I had seen the garment once before.

Gwendolyn had worn this dress in a desperate bid for her father's attention, or perhaps it was only to cheer him after a crushing battle early on in the war. Apparently it belonged to her deceased mother. But Odin had neither noticed nor cared, and cruelly chastised his daughter for her vanity.

And, in a testament to her great will, Gwendolyn shrugged it off, though I knew she was honestly hurting inside. It reminded me of Melvin and myself so much that I wanted to step out from my place in the darkness, open my arms, and say, _I, too, have been hurt in this way. I have seen how you suffer, and I am like exactly like you, Princess…_

But, she was already talking to her Pooka handmaiden, smothering her own hopes under words of agreement with her father.

And then she came back here to change into her war clothes.

Unable to control myself, I walked over to the dress and removed my right glove. I ran my bare fingers over the soft material. The dress had to be old, yet the fibers were strong and sure, not a stain or flaw anywhere.

My hand trembled over the bodice. I liked her armor better, practical yet glorious, with those amazing flying appendages. But her warm body had been in this dress, not so long ago.

Ah, yes. Her body fascinated me. She was taller than the other Valkyries, thin yet muscular, with powerful cords in her arms and back. If she had landed a blow with that weapon of hers, I do not doubt that I might not be recounting this tale today.

And how would it feel, I wondered, if those powerful arms were to embrace me gently, if that voice were to say, "Yes, I know you… I know you as I know my own reflection, for we are indeed the same…"

My heart wrenched in my ribcage. Her room, her dress, the smell of her, it was everywhere. I was so close. I fell to my knees and dropped my glove. I pressed my face into the skirt and inhaled deeply. It smelled faintly of cinnamon and soap. Was that her smell? Did she smell like this every day?

It was rich and heady, and I was suddenly horrified. What if I couldn't move? What if someone came in, and found me, the legendary Shadow Knight, with his face pressed against a woman's skirt? But the smell was intoxicating. I wouldn't care, as long as I could continue breathing this scent!

I had smelled her once before, on the battlefield. We had crossed our blades—hers the magical spear Odin promised me, mine the bloodstained Belderiver. She was not as strong as me, certainly not while I was in my Shadow form… But she was fast and skilled, using the spear as thought it were an extension of her body. But it couldn't save her from my brutal power.

I pinned her under me, held her in place with a wicked point against her chest.

And she was not frightened at all.

Her smell then, heavy with sweat and iron, blood and something sweetly indescribable, was just as attractive to me—if not more so—than the smell of this dress. I caught something familiar in her, in her dark, hateful eyes. I realized that we were animals of the same rare breed.

I don't believe in destiny. I believe we are each to wander and hopefully find our purpose in the ones we love. And I knew it then, as I breathed her in, as she dared me to kill her and shivers ran up my spine: she was my purpose.

She thought that I was in control. _Kill me now. _

But I would exist for_her_, for all time.

The dress was wet. I lifted my face and shamefully realized that my tears stained the skirt.

I staggered backwards as a terrible voice boomed behind me.

"YOU…!"

The Pooka handmaiden—Myris, I think—stood in the doorway, shaking with anger. She dropped a basket of linens and reached for her mistress' dressing table. With her eyes fixed on me, she reached into the top drawer and pulled out a dagger.

Gwendolyn had trained her aide well.

"Who are you?!" She screamed. "Get away from there!"

I was mortified… Being threatened by a pink Pooka… But not wanting to cause any more of a scene, I wiped my eyes and complied.

"I am Oswald," I answered, slowly climbing to my feet and putting my glove back on. "I…"

She stared at me, furiously brandishing the blade, waiting for me to explain myself.

But there were no words. What _could_ I say, anyway?

My brain worked rapidly. How could I prevent this disaster?

A desperate fire flickered to life inside my soul. I felt my all-too-human flesh replaced by otherworldly shadows. I am skilled in only one trade: how to fight for someone else. So, fight I would.

"Behold!" I cried.

And suddenly, I was more monster than man, leering over the Pooka with my swirling, black form.

She stumbled away in terror, dropping the dagger to the royal blue rug beneath her feet.

"Servant," I rasped, peering down at her through wicked magenta eyes, "you shall speak of this to no one. Words of this incident will bring you and your mistress great pain."

Of course, it was an empty threat. I could never bring Gwendolyn actual harm. But it was still likely that Myris didn't know that…

She let out a sob and grabbed for the dagger with one furry hand. I knocked it away with my sword.

"Your silence, on the other hand, may be greatly rewarded." I paused. "Your mistress may soon know a freedom incomparable to any she has previously known."

Myris looked up at me, her eyes molten. Her love for Gwendolyn was so obviously written there. I felt oddly exposed, like she was sharing a secret with me that I had no right knowing.

"So…" She whispered. "So, you liked the dress?"

I backed away.

What?

Did she mean now, when I had been crying into the folds of the gown? Or… Had she seen me before? Had she noticed me in the shadows, watching Gwendolyn's exchange with Odin?

I turned and dashed toward the balcony, letting my momentum block out my thoughts. It's amazing how physical energy can do that to my mind. For me, at least, it seems impossible to struggle both physically and mentally. I am only capable of one or the other at once. All I have to do is switch the focus.

"Wait!" Myris called.

I leapt onto the rail, over the balcony. Though my human body was surely damaged, I felt nothing as my shadow form collided with rooftops and stone turrets. I leapt from surface to surface until I was on the ground, running through Odin's stony gardens, on my way, finally, to Winterhorn Ridge.

I glanced over my shoulder. A tiny pink figure stood watching me from Gwendolyn's balcony, rabbit ears at attention over her head.

Feeling my power ebb and vanish, I stopped my dash beyond the line of her vision and dropped down behind a statue of a demon. I clutched my chest and panted.

Little drops of sweat and tears rained down on the stone beneath me.

I imagined Gwendolyn, her crown ablaze in the sunlight, leading her troops and roaring victoriously. Would Myris report to her? Would I be at the end of her spear the next time I saw her? Had I destroyed my chance…?

I pictured her room in my head, trying to secure the images so they would remain forever: the woman's bust, with the birds on her shoulders; the balcony and the hazy lights; the shade decorated with warriors; and the butterflies... I pictured the glowing butterflies, trapped in the lamp, happily chasing each other…

Perhaps I am doomed to keep repeating my mistakes, to chase Gwendolyn across a battlefield—nay, an entire world—not of our making. But even if this is my future, it is the one I will choose.

I would track her scent—sweat and cinnamon and iron—like a hound, if it meant I could look into her oceanic eyes once more, and see myself reflected there.

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A/N's:

First Odin Sphere fic. I got the idea one day and couldn't resist. Plus I wanted to write something intensely (I hope) sad and romantic. Plus I needed a Naruto break. LOL.

Oswald is such a great character: badass, all about equality, and the epitome of emo … He's a writer's dream. I hope I did a good job with him. I had fun, anyway. Oh. And Odin's such an ass, he's great, too.

Let me know what you think! Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Thanks for reading!


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